


Jazz/Tracks sensory deprivation

by Anonmemeproject



Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Complete, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-sticky fill, Other, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:17:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonmemeproject/pseuds/Anonmemeproject
Summary: Jazz/Tracks, sensory deprivation hurt/comfort, G1Filled by: AnonymousMay 27 2009Prompt:After reading Spotlight: Jazz I'm really wanting some Jazz/Tracks action.When Jazz first finds Tracks, Tracks isn't quite so easily convinced that Jazz is an Autobot. They plug into each other so Tracks can confirm his rescuer's allegiance, which turns into Jazz offering comfort and reassurance to blinded!Tracks while they wait for their transport to arrive. Emphasis on the sensory deprivation, preferably plug'n'play, but sparks would be fine too. It doesn't matter if they get to the point of actual overload; I'm more interested in the emotion!porn than the mechanics of the deed itself.
Relationships: Jazz/Tracks
Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542844
Kudos: 16





	Jazz/Tracks sensory deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> Link to original post: https://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/1174.html?thread=60822#t60822
> 
> Request originally posted here: http://community.livejournal.com/tf2007fun/506446.html?thread=17946958#t17946958
> 
> Authors note: The idea finally turned into a fic, so I took a stab at my own prompt. Spoilers for the first two pages of Spotlight: Jazz. The opening dialogue and closing line are snitched directly from the comic.

Tracks came out of stasis to eerie stillness, sharp contrast to the screams and explosions to which he'd fallen offline. He couldn't see, could only hear the occasional fizzle and snap of blown electrical circuits to let him know where the other members of his unit might be. The shock of sudden attack still echoed in his processor. He flinched away from the memory, focusing as best he could on the mech who answered his call for help. 

“My optics, they're damaged. I can't see properly. Are you a fr—are you an Autobot?”

“Yeah, we're here to get you home.” 

The mech's voice was friendly, pleasantly melodious. He sounded like he ought to be an Autobot. But Tracks was uncomfortably aware of the damage done to his body, of the fact that it had been this stranger, not one of his team, who had responded to his call. 

Tracks cycled through various visual settings, trying to coax out a clearer image. No good. The best he could get from the mangled optics was a blue, static-filled outline of the mech in front of him. He felt a fool, staring like this, but he'd been fighting down panic and fear ever since his optics were blown out and the battle continued to rage on around him, and right now he couldn't bring himself to care that he must look like a cornered turbofox. 

A hand fell on his shoulder. Tracks shivered, fighting the urge to grab hold and let the mech haul him to his feet, instead pulling away. “How do I know you're an Autobot?” He eyed that grainy blue silhouette warily, watching and listening for any sign of hostility. 

Minuscule particles of dust and debris lingered in the air, kicked up from the fight and no doubt covering him in a layer of battlefield filth. They were already working themselves into the cracks in his optical glass and agitating the delicate parts behind. It stung. Tracks endured it, afraid that dampening any input from the area would result in the loss of what little vision he had. 

The mech in front of him went silent for a moment before debris crunched and and the blue shadow dipped as the mech crouched. “We don't have much time,” he murmured. “How can I convince you?”

If it was going to be that easy, then perhaps... but no. He had to be sure. 

Tracks shifted, trying to sit up properly. Displaced gears ground together and coagulated energon coated his internal cabling, making movement unpleasant. He tried not to jump as unseen hands latched onto him once again, helping him up. The mech stayed close once he was sitting upright. 

He reached around his chest armor to a panel high on his side, just under his arm. Pulling out a specific plug, he held it out and waited, tense. This particular type of plug-in was not nearly as intimate as hooking direct processor to processor, providing no access to sensitive knowledge. It was a two-way version of the same hookup medics used when needing such basic information as part types and level of mental awareness from an unresponsive mech. 

Of course, if this was a Decepticon things could still be about to get very unpleasant... but at least he'd know.

There was no shift in posture that he could see, no change in the tune of the other mech's systems to let him gauge a reaction. Simply a seemingly unending moment of stillness before the other mech gave his response. 

“All right.” 

The mech's outline loomed closer and then shifted to the side. A protruding bumper scraped across Tracks' outstretched arm. A hand took his, guiding him until his fingers brushed across paneling and a matching set of ports. 

Tracks fumbled, staring straight ahead into static. Humiliation burned through him when he couldn't get the plug to slide in properly, the emotion no doubt written all across his face. The mech took his hand again without comment, guiding him into place. There was a minute click as the plug slid home.

A foreign presence popped into existence on the other end of the line. Data exchange began, their systems “talking” on the most basic of levels. Prominent emotions, mostly. A sense of calm purpose overlying a tinge of urgency, concern... 

Concern that jumped sharply almost immediately after they plugged in. Tracks ignored that for now, sifting past the cloud of personality that always lingered at the forefront of such connections in search of the more solid data behind it. There. Autobot systems, Autobot coding. Undoubtedly. He'd been found by a friend. 

Relief surged through him, but instead of making Tracks feel better, it left him reeling. Everything he'd been pushing down in favor of finding out if his 'rescuer' was friend or foe surged to the forefront of his mind. 

Pain pulsed through his body, damage reports suddenly impossible to ignore. Nothing large, but there were a lot, and he couldn't bring himself to shut any of them down. Proximity sensors, targeting arrays... it was all offline. The thought of willfully cutting himself off from yet another part of his body was far more unbearable than the pain. 

A sharp pop to the right, the sound of a Cybertronian body burning itself to slag. Tracks flinched. If this mech was taking so much time with him, they had to be dead. His entire team... 

Hands tightened on his shoulders. “Easy, now. I gotcha.” 

The other mech was so near that Tracks could feel the steady hum of his systems. He leaned in. This close, he could almost make out more details about the mech's frame. If only he could see!

...He'd be fine. He'd be able to get up, to leave this place, just—a moment. He just needed a moment. 

Shifting on the other end of the linkup reminded Tracks that the other mech was aware of his every emotional flux. “Here,” the mech said. Tracks liked the sound of his voice. He didn't think he'd ever forget it. “Trust me, all right?”

All right. Yes. He could do that. 

A tingle. Pleasant. It originated from the other mech, not his own processor, but it felt good all the same. The kind of warm, satiated feeling he got when replaying an especially fond memory... or on recalling past lovers. Tracks let himself sink into it, too pain-tired to feel like a voyeur. 

A hand touched his arm, fingers rubbing carefully across the aching joint. “Feel that? Yes? Shut down the pain receptors there. Just right there.” With the fingers providing pressure, something to focus on, and the mech continuing to murmur support, Tracks found he could shut down the appropriate receptors in the area until the touch there no longer hurt at all, simply soothed. 

“Good,” the mech said, and moved his hand to a spot just below Tracks' chest armor. “Now here.”

They worked their way across Tracks' body, the other mech using the uplink to find the locations of the worst injuries. With each new spot, the pain faded a little more. The edge of panic slowly receded. Steadily regaining his wits, the beginnings of embarrassment spread through him as he finally became aware enough to care about what he must look like. The other mech put a swift stop to that. “S'okay, my mech. Happens to all of us eventually.” His hand brushed against Tracks' temple, quietly urging. By this point, it was surprisingly easy to send a shut-down signal to the pain receptors connected to his optics. Tracks was relieved, if by now not exactly surprised, when it made his vision no worse. 

The mech's hand didn't move away. It took Tracks a moment to realize they were done. Soft warmth from the lingering touches suffused his body. Whatever memory the other mech had been using to keep up that sense of pleasure faded, but by now Tracks was generating plenty of the feeling on his own. He startled himself with the sudden urge to turn his head and kiss the other mech's fingers. 

He didn't hide the flash of lust in time. The mech's presence on the other end of the link stilled, quieting. Tracks' body froze, his mind flinching into itself. The other mech let him withdraw. 

He couldn't mention it. This wasn't the place or time for such thoughts. But there was no sense of rejection from the other mech, no strictly negative response at all... “Thank you.”

“Hmm.” The mech's hand lingered a moment longer at the side of his helm before disappearing altogether. “You ready to get gone?”

They'd been here longer than was probably wise, Tracks realized with a start. “Yes.” He nodded decisively. He reached for the plug, not allowing himself to hesitate. The mech's presence on the periphery of his conscious winked out of existence. But his body stayed, solid and real. Tracks slowly sat back.

A hand clapped down reassuringly on his shoulder. Tracks heard the near-silent click of a com-link activating. 

“Transport, whenever you 'bots are ready, we've got our tickets.”


End file.
